


Spellweaver

by bfketh



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dimension Travel, Eventual Smut, M/M, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Violence, evil twin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bfketh/pseuds/bfketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschstein had no idea that deciding to help the man he found freezing in the snow would literally end up changing his world. A tale of a young man who learns that not everything is as it appears, no good deed goes unpunished, and maybe happily ever afters do exist. The trick is living long enough to find yours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_No, I've not seen you this way before_  
 _Standin' a mess at my door_  
 _Well, it took you so long_  
 _But you finally found_  
 _You're no one 'til someone lets you down_

_You believed that all people were kind_  
 _And that you'd never mess with your mind_  
 _You gave her your trust_  
 _And she busted your crown_  
 _You're no one 'til someone lets you down_

~~~~~

"You can't do this, Lucio! You have no right!" The crown prince pushed himself up to one knee from where he'd been thrown to the floor, glaring at the man standing over him. His hand clenched at the now useless hilt of his sword, the blade laying in pieces scattered all around him, still smoking from the spell that had shattered it.

"Right? I have every right. _I_ am the oldest. _I_ am the firstborn. But, no, Father always doted on you, favored you, handed you _everything_ that should have been _mine_. You are the one who has no right! And now that I have the power I need, I'm taking it _back_!"

He stared up in shock at the words, as that all-too-familiar face twisted with anger and hatred into something utterly alien. His mouth went dry as dread settled deep into the pit of his stomach, "Wh-what did you do?"

Lucio smiled, reaching up to the eyepatch he now wore over his right eye, "I simply...made a deal."

The prince suddenly remembered that day, months ago, when his brother had gone missing during a hunt, his horse arriving back at the castle riderless and worked into a lather. The soldiers had been searching for him for nearly a fortnight, their parents frantic with worry, and their younger sister had been nearly inconsolable. Then, he had shown up in Jinae just as suddenly as he had disappeared, his face bandaged. He said a wild boar had charged his horse, panicking it. He said he had been thrown from the saddle. He said the boar had gored his eye before he managed to kill it. He said an old herb-woman had found him and nursed him back to health.

He had lied.

His brother's right eye stared back at him, the same as ever. Except now the pupil glowed a baleful red.

Demon-touched.

Almost too late, the prince wove a shield of light and magic in front of him, blocking whatever spell Lucio tossed at him. Before, the prince's magic had always been stronger than his brother's.

That was no longer the case.

The demonic magic tore through the prince's shield like it was paper, wrapping him in a wash of red and pain before it swept him away into blackness.

The last thing the prince heard was Lucio's voice. It echoed as if it came from a great distance, even the echoes rapidly fading as if the source was moving away at an unbelievable speed.

"Goodbye, Marco."

And then all he knew was cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics credit: "You're No One 'Til Someone Lets You Down" by John Mayer
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at bfketh.tumblr.com
> 
> I decided to name Dark!Marco Lucio because Luke and Mark kind of go together (because of the Apostles), and then there's the whole ironic thing about his name meaning "light."
> 
> DON'T JUDGE ME.


	2. The Stranger in the Snow

_Searching all my days just to find you_   
_I'm not sure who I'm looking for_   
_I'll know it_   
_When I see you_   
_Until then, I'll hide in my bedroom_   
_Staying up all night just to write_   
_A love song for no one_

_I'm tired of being alone_   
_So hurry up and get here_   
_So tired of being alone_   
_So hurry up and get here_

~~~~~

Jean trudged along the icy streets of Trost, clapping his hands together and breathing into them to try to preserve some semblance of warmth.

_‘Figures the day I need to get groceries is cold as hell. Is this damn winter ever going to end?’_

At least the store wasn’t very far from his apartment. Jean sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. And then he heard a sound coming from the alley to his left and froze.

It came again, a low groan, like something – _or someone_ – in pain.

He debated with himself for a moment. This wasn’t exactly the worst part of town, but it was far from the best. Every survival instinct Jean had was telling him to leave it alone. Keep walking. It was none of his business.

But then again, he’d never been very good at listening to his survival instincts.

He edged cautiously into the alley, scanning it for anyone who was waiting to club him over the head. There was nothing there.

Wait, no. There was something. Jean saw a faint movement coming from a dirty mound of snow piled up near a dumpster. He slowly approached it.

It was a man, sprawled out in the snow. His clothes were…odd. Tight brown pants tucked into knee-high leather boots and a loose cream-colored shirt belted at the waist. The clothes were far too light for the weather, and, added to that, they looked like someone had attacked them with a blender. Both the shirt and pants were torn and ripped, and bloodstains showed that the man’s skin beneath hadn’t fared much better. Only the boots seemed intact.

As for the man himself, he looked young, maybe about Jean’s age. He was tall, his hair was black, and his skin was dotted with freckles. He was pale, but it seemed a bit unnatural. Whether it was from the cold or the man’s injuries, Jean couldn’t tell. His body looked healthy, otherwise, strong muscles showing through the shredded fabric of his shirt. All in all, he didn’t look like the kind of guy you’d expect to find unconscious, maybe dying, in an alley in the middle of Trost.

Jean looked around, nervously, but there was no one else there. He ran a hand through his hair. The way he saw it, he had three options; call an ambulance, call the police, or leave and pretend he didn’t see anything. And that last one wasn’t really an option at all. Jean was just about to pull out his cell phone when the figure below him stirred, his eyes briefly fluttering open.

They were a rich, warm brown, and they were unfocused and filled with pain. And beneath the pain, Jean thought he could see something else.

Grief.

His eyes closed again, and Jean found himself crouching down next to the stranger. He reached out and gently grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to help you, okay? I’m going to help.”

No response.

_‘This is a bad idea. This is such a fucking bad idea.’_ Even as he kept repeating that to himself, Jean levered the man up, wrapping the limp arms around his shoulders, shifting the man's weight up onto his back. The hard part was standing up, but he managed that, too, getting his hands under the man’s thighs to support him. Jean stood there for a minute, catching his breath.

“You are so lucky I work out. I just hope you don’t turn out to be a serial killer or something. I’m too young to be turned into a skin-suit.”

~~~~~

The walk back to his apartment was a special kind of hell that Jean hoped he’d be able to forget soon. He had never been more grateful to live on the ground floor in his life. He still wasn’t sure how he’d been able to get his door unlocked and opened without dropping either his keys or the guy on his back. He supposed he was just that talented.

And now he had a naked, bandaged man in his bed. Not that _that_ was an entirely unfamiliar situation for Jean. The naked man part, anyway. The bandages were new.

Not that he was naked _anymore_. Once Jean had gotten the ruin of his clothes off him and cleaned and dressed his wounds, he’d put a pair of his own sweatpants on the stranger. They’d fit well enough, maybe a couple inches too short. Luckily, most of the cuts had been superficial, and concentrated on his forearms, a few on his chest. Jean didn’t think any of them would need stitches. His clothes had been a total loss, but that would be something to worry about when the guy woke up.

He seemed to be doing better now. His breathing had deepened and evened out as he fell into a more natural sleep, and some color had crept back into his face. One long, freckled arm rested on the outside of the blankets, a heavy golden ring resting on his right middle finger.

That had been the only thing of value on the man. There had been no phone, no wallet, nothing. Which would fit, if he’d been robbed and left for dead, but then why wouldn’t the thief take such an obviously valuable piece of jewelry? Come to that, why was the man unconscious in the first place? His cuts had looked painful, and there were a lot of them, but it shouldn’t have been enough to make him pass out, and there weren’t any signs of head wounds, either.

This whole thing was just getting stranger and stranger.

Jean leaned forward in the chair he'd set next to the bed and picked up the man's hand to examine the ring more closely. It had a design carved into it: a shield with the head and horn of a unicorn in front of it. Jean felt a nagging sense of familiarity, almost as if he'd seen something similar to it before.

Well, he could figure it out later. He set the stranger's hand back down and leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. It wasn't even noon yet, and he'd already had a long day.

_'Fuck. I've still got to get groceries.'_ He eyed his unexpected house guest, wondering if he should go out now or wait. It didn't look like he was going to wake up any time soon, so Jean decided to take his chances and leave now.

~~~~~

Jean checked on the man when he got back. He was still asleep, but it looked like he might wake up soon. He was starting to move around a little, his brows knitting together and his mouth forming silent words. Whatever he was dreaming of, it didn't look pleasant.

Just then, the man shouted out "No!" and bolted upright in the bed, hands held in front of his chest protectively, breath heaving. His eyes darted around the room, widening when they settled on Jean.

Not wanting to startle him, Jean slowly raised his hands up, palms facing out to show they were empty. He smiled, "Hi."

The other man visibly calmed down and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, "Um, hi." He looked around the room, "Where am I?"

"My apartment." Jean slowly approached the bed and sat down in the chair, still being careful not to make any aggressive moves. The large brown eyes following his every move made him feel like he was dealing with a frightened puppy.

The man frowned, "No, I meant, _where_ am I?" He gestured to the window, "What is this town called?"

"You're in Trost. Didn't you know?" Jean started to wonder if maybe the guy had hit his head after all.

His face fell and he murmured quietly, almost to himself, "I've never heard of Trost..."

Jean shrugged, "You're not missing much. So, do you have a name?"

"Oh! Sorry!" He smiled, but it looked a little strained, "I'm Marco Bodt."

Jean nodded, "Jean Kirschstein."

The other man - _Marco_ started as he heard the name. "Kirschstein...?" Then he shook his head as if he was dismissing something. He smiled again, "Nice to meet you, Jean. I assume you were the one who did this?" He held up his bandaged arm.

"Yeah. I found you bleeding and unconscious outside in a snowbank. What happened to you?" Jean was starting to relax. Marco may have been a little confused, but other than that he seemed normal enough. Jean didn't think he was in any danger of being murdered in his sleep, at least.

Marco's smile faded at the question, and he looked down, wrapping his arms around himself, "It's a long story, and I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

Jean bent forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, "Try me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they finally meet!
> 
> But why did Jean recognize Marco's ring?
> 
> And why did Marco react to Jean's name?
> 
> Will Jean believe Marco's story?
> 
> (Some of) These questions will be answered next chapter!
> 
> Lyrics credit: "Love Song For No One" by John Mayer


	3. The Seed of Hope

_I got half a smile and zero shame_   
_I got a reflection with a different name_   
_Got a brand new blues I can't explain_   
_Who did you think I was_

~~~~~

Jean stared at Marco in silence when he finished speaking. Marco took one look at his face and groaned, “I knew it; you don’t believe me.”

Jean blinked and leaned back in his chair, biting back his initial response to carefully consider his words. It was obvious to him now that the other man wasn’t mentally stable, and he didn’t want to risk setting him off in case he turned out to be dangerous as well. He chewed on his lower lip, “I…believe that _you_ believe it’s true.”

Marco narrowed his eyes and huffed, “That’s just a polite way of saying you think I’m insane.”

“Well, you’re telling me that you’re a _prince_ from some other world, and your evil twin brother threw some funky demon magic at you, and you ended up here of all places. It’s just…magic doesn’t _exist_ , Marco.”

“I know it doesn’t exist. Not _here_ , anyway. I haven’t seen any since I woke up, and it was everywhere at home.” Marco looked down, picking at a stray thread on the blanket.

Against his better judgment, Jean found himself asking, “You _see_ magic?”

“Well, yes. I’m a spellweaver.”

“Oh, of course. That explains everything,” Jean rolled his eyes. “Hey, just for kicks, could you pretend that I don’t have any idea what any of this shit means? Y’know, seeing as _I don’t have any idea what any of this shit means_.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Marco blushed, and Jean tried very hard not to find that blush _absolutely fucking adorable_. “Um,” Marco continued, “in my world, we have wizards and witches. They can kind of sense magic, and they use rituals and incantations to control it. It takes years of study to master. Spellweavers are different. We can _see_ magic, like threads of color and light. Because of that, we can manipulate it directly, without training. A few very powerful spellweavers actually _hear_ magic, too, like it was music, and they use music to control it, just like the elves do. But we haven’t had one of those since Johan Ki- since my grandfather’s time.”

Jean felt a chill go down his spine. He didn’t know why, but he was _sure_ that the name Marco was going to say before he stopped himself was Johan Kirschstein. _‘But that’s impossible. How the hell would he know my grandfather’s name? I can’t actually be starting to think this stuff is real.’_ And yet, there was something so frightfully _earnest_ about Marco that a part of him wanted to believe in his delusions.

Jean looked into Marco’s dark eyes. Except for him talking about some fantasy world like it  was real, he didn’t _seem_ crazy. So far, he’d been perfectly calm and reasonable, more so than Jean would be if he woke up in a strange place with no idea of how he got there. Jean took a deep breath, and, for the second time that day, did something he knew he would regret. “So, ignoring whether or not what you’re telling me is true, you really don’t have any idea where you are, or any money, or any friends here that can help you right?”

His hands clenched tighter at the blankets, “Yes, that’s right.” His voice sounded small. Scared.

“Well, if I let you stay here, you aren’t gonna end up robbing me blind, or killing me, or eating my heart to gain my strength or something, are you?”

Marco’s head snapped up and his mouth fell open and shut a few times, “I- Of course not! I would never…” Then the rest of what Jean had said sunk in, “You…you’ll let me stay?”

Jean scratched his nose and looked away, feeling his cheeks heat up, “I mean, I can’t just toss you out into the street after bringing you in and helping you this much already. But it’s just until you can get back on your feet, okay?”

Marco blinked at him. Then he smiled, “Thank you. Thank you so much. That’s really…wow.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Jean muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment. He stood up and stretched, “Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starving. Want me to bring you something?”

“Oh, no, I think I can get up now.” Marco tossed back the blanket and paused, looking down at the sweatpants that now covered his lower half, “Uh…”

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. Your clothes were kind of completely ruined, so I had to, um…” Jean rubbed the back of his neck. _‘This has gotten nice and awkward. What do I say now? “Sorry I saw your junk”?’_

“Oh,” Marco’s face had turned completely red. “Um…thanks?”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” Jean turned around and rummaged through his dresser, grabbing the first T-shirt he found and tossing it to Marco, “Here, you can wear this for now.”

Marco unfolded it and looked at the design for a moment, wrinkling his nose, “What’s a Coldplay?”

“Just put on the damn shirt.”

~~~~~

Lunch went well, apart from Marco opening up the oven door and asking Jean where he kept his firewood. Jean couldn’t help grinning at the look on the other man’s face when he’d closed the oven and clicked on the gas to the burner. Of course, then he had to spend the whole time he was cooking trying to explain how it worked. He still wasn’t sure he’d managed to, but Marco had smiled and thanked him anyway.

After lunch, Jean showed Marco around the apartment, not that there was much to show. There was the bedroom and the main room with his small dining table, a couch, a recliner, and the TV. The small kitchen was separated from the rest of the apartment by a counter. The only part Marco hadn’t seen was the bathroom.

“So here’s the sink. You turn on hot water with the knob on the left and cold water is on the right. The tub works the same way, and you can pull this thing up to make water come out of the shower,” Jean pointed up at it, “instead. Any questions?”

Marco chuckled, “I’m familiar with running water, Jean. Although usually only magic users or people who can afford to pay magic users to set up the pumps have it. We even have hot water, too. Some people use copper boilers, although captive fire-sprites are safer.”

“Fire-sprites. Right, it’s so obvious. Well, our set-up here is something more like the boiler thing. It’s old, tends to break down, and you’re lucky if the water doesn’t turn to ice half-way through. At least I shouldn’t have to explain the toilet to you.”

“What’s a toilet?”

Jean squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose, “Fuck. Okay, it’s… You know what a chamber pot is, right?” Marco nodded, and Jean continued, “It’s like that. You use it, and then you use some of _this_ to clean yourself,” he tapped the toilet paper roll, “and then you push this lever and everything goes away.” Jean demonstrated, and Marco watched the water swirl around the bowl before disappearing down the drain.

“Huh. It’s certainly…hygienic.”

“It’s a fucking modern miracle. John Crapper was a genius. Can we please stop talking about it now?” Jean ushered him out of the bathroom.

He led Marco to the couch, flopping down and patting the seat next to him. Once Marco had settled, Jean picked up the remote and flicked on the television.

Marco visibly jumped at the sudden light and sound coming from the screen, and Jean found himself laughing at the wide-eyed expression on his face. He didn’t wait for the inevitable questions this time. “This is TV. Some of the stuff on here shows you what’s happening in the world, some of it is educational, but most of it is just mindless entertainment. Like…like plays, except you don’t have to haul your ass out of your house to watch ‘em. And don’t ask me how it works, because fuck if I know.”

“Oh,” was all Marco said, his eyes staying glued to the screen.

Jean flicked through the channels for a little while, eventually ending up on the Olympics. Which he then had to explain. If nothing else, Marco was certainly dedicated to his whole “I come from another world and your ways are new and strange to me” act. If it even was an act. It was weird, but the longer Jean spent with the guy, the more Jean started to think that maybe his story might not be complete bullshit.

_‘Keep up that line of thought, Kirschstein, and the two of you could end up as roommates at the looney-bin together.’_

They ended up watching the games together for a couple hours until Jean realized with a start that he was going to be late if he didn’t get moving. He turned to Marco apologetically, “Look, I’ve gotta leave for work soon. Are you gonna be okay here by yourself?”

Marco smiled back and made a little shooing motion with his hand, “I’ll be fine, really. You shouldn’t feel like you need to put your life on hold on my account.”

Jean stood up and tossed the remote to Marco. “Alright, just…just don’t try to cook anything while I’m gone. There’s some ham and cheese in the fridge; you can make yourself a sandwich or something if you get hungry.”

“Yes, yes, no burning the place down while you’re gone. Got it.”

Jean rolled his eyes and went into his bedroom to change. It was a Saturday, which meant he’d be performing instead of doing his usual shift as a barista. That was one of the deals he’d made with Hanji when she’d hired him at her little coffee shop three years ago – Friday and Saturday nights, he’d be the “live entertainment,” playing his guitar and giving Hanji a percentage of his tips (which was a small price to pay to not have to busk in the street like he’d _been_ doing), and three other days during the week, he worked behind the counter. So instead of his uniform, he tossed on a dark pair of jeans, an old band shirt, and a flannel over that. Then he reached into a drawer and pulled out one last thing; the thing he always wore when he played.

His grandfather’s ring.

Jean smiled as he slipped the heavy gold band over his forefinger. He remembered when he was a child, and his grandfather had taught him how to play the violin. He remembered himself, a little older, showing his grandfather how his lessons on the guitar were going. Older still, and he remembered performing with his grandfather for the rest of the family, he on his guitar and the old man on the violin.

He remembered when his grandfather had gotten too sick and weak to play his violin anymore, so Jean would play it for him, spending hours at his bedside. And he remembered his grandfather giving him this ring five years ago, just before he died. _“This is yours now, Jean. Of all my grandchildren, you are the one it was meant for…”_ he had said, dropping it into Jean’s palm with shaking fingers.

_“Grandpa, I can’t take this. It’s yours...”_ he’d tried to give it back, but Johan had just wrapped Jean’s fingers around it.

_“Yes, it is mine, given to me by a dear old friend, and now I am giving it to you. Please take good care of it, and remember me when you wear it.”_ His grandfather had reached out then and rubbed Jean’s hair _, “Consider it this selfish old man’s last request.”_

Jean smiled and ran his thumb over the design imprinted into the gold: a shield embossed with two roses. Then Jean froze in recognition.

_‘The shield. It’s identical to the ring Marco was wearing. Only the emblem is different.’_ He shot a bewildered glance at the door separating him from his freckled guest. _‘Just what the hell is going on?!’_

In the end, it was a question that would have to wait, as Jean barely had time to grab his guitar and run out the door.

~~~~~

Marco woke up with a start. He’d dozed off shortly after Jean had left; it seemed his body was still recovering from the after effects of being ripped away from his own world. The apartment was dark now, save for the light from the TV and from some sort of streetlamp outside the window.

Marco sat up and stretched, his joints snapping and popping as his muscles loosened. Then he spun some light from his fingers, pleased to see that his magic still worked in this strange place. Not that it would be enough to get him home; not when he didn’t even know where “home” was from here. He sighed and made his way to the bathroom, dismissing his spell and flicking the switch by the door as he had seen Jean do earlier.

He was washing his hands when something made him look up into the mirror.

At first, all he noticed were the dark threads of magic crawling along the surface, and then he realized that the room reflected in the mirror was not the room he was standing in now.

And then his reflection smiled, one eye glowing red, and Marco realized it wasn’t his reflection at all.

“Well, _dear_ brother, it’s good to see you survived your…trip.” Lucio eyed Marco through the mirror, and then his gaze froze, “What’s a Coldplay?”

“I never got an answer to that question, either.” Marco crossed his arms over his chest and glared, “What do you want?”

“Why must I want something? Perhaps I merely thought that you might want news of your beloved family.”

“I swear, Lucio, if you’ve harmed one _hair_ on Mina’s head, I’ll-“

“You’ll what? Sneer at me?” he laughed. “There’s nothing you can do. Face it, little brother, you’re _trapped_. There will be no one coming there to rescue you. No one knows where you are. _I_ don’t even know where you are. But don’t worry. I have no intention of doing anything to our sister if I don’t have to. She’s very worried about you, the poor thing. Cried herself to sleep in my arms.”

“How dare you touch her, you demon!”

“Sticks and stones, brother. Now, as for Father, I’m afraid the strain of losing another son, the _heir_ ,” Lucio spat out the word, “and right from the middle of the castle was too much for the old man. He’s taken ill to his bed, and Mother has devoted herself to caring for him. The council had no choice but to declare me regent.”

“You monster!” Marco lunged for the image in the mirror, but his fingers scrabbled uselessly on the glass. He drew back with a snarl, “You’ll never get away with it! They’ll find out what you are, and they’ll stop you!”

“ _Who_ will stop me?” Lucio smirked, “The Guard? I’m afraid they’re all completely loyal to me. Or maybe you think your precious Scouts will suspect something? Hmph. Once they get back to the capital, they’ll fall in line with the rest of the army.”

“Once they get back?” Marco couldn’t stop himself from asking. The Scouts were supposed to be back from their training expedition that morning; in fact, Marco had been on his way to meet them when Lucio had ambushed him in an abandoned hallway.

Lucio snorted, “The fools probably got lost somewhere. No matter; even if they _did_ suspect something, without you they have no one to fight for.”

Marco narrowed his eyes. Commander Erwin was not a stupid man; Christa had been with the Scouts. It was possible the Oracle had made an appearance and warned them of his brother’s treachery.

Lucio grinned in the mirror and rested his chin in his hands, “Oh, my, is that _hope_ I see in your eyes? How adorable. You think that little blond pet wizard they keep will be able to bring you back? You _do_ realize that people were searching for Johan Kirschstein for _decades_ after he disappeared. You honestly think _you’ll_ be found that easily?"

" _You_ found me."

"Blood is a wonderful thing. But all our shared blood did was allow me to see you and speak to you through the mirrors; I still don't know _where_ you are. No, dear brother, you’re going to be in your new home for a _long_ time. I’d get used to it, if I were you.”

With that, the image in the mirror faded, and Marco was left glaring at his own reflection, Lucio’s laughter echoing in his ears.

_‘No matter what that demon says, I will not lose hope. I **will** find a way back home, and I will **stop** him!’_

He'd survived. He'd already found an ally, a  _friend_ , in this alien place.

_'Kirschstein. That name can't be a coincidence.'_

All Marco needed now was time.

And a little more luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition time! I just needed to get it out of the way so that next chapter we can get started on Plot.
> 
> And Hanji. There can never be enough Hanji.
> 
> She's my spirit animal.
> 
> Lyrics credit: "Who Did You Think I Was" by John Mayer


	4. Growing Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating upped to M because of Levi's potty-mouth.
> 
> I was listening to Calum Graham when I wrote this, if you're interested in what Jean's guitar playing might sound like.

_I'm not alone, I wish I was._   
_Cause then I'd know, I was down because_   
_I couldn't find, a friend around_   
_To love me like, they do right now._   
_They do right now._

_I'm dizzy from the shopping malls_   
_I searched for joy, but I bought it all_   
_It doesn't help the hunger pains_   
_and a thirst I'd have to drown first to ever satiate_

_Something's missing_   
_And I don't know how to fix it_   
_something's missing_   
_And I don't know what it is_   
_At all_

~~~~~

Jean practically ran to the coffee shop, his guitar case thumping rhythmically against the back of his coat. He pulled open the door of The Sunny Bean (which Jean thought privately was a fucking stupid name, but good luck convincing Hanji of that) with five minutes to spare before his first set was supposed to start. The shop was typical of its kind: an eclectic mix of mismatched tables and chairs with some loveseats and couches against the walls in lieu of booths. The walls were mostly bare of decorations, but that was because Hanji had hired some local artists to cover them in murals. The place gave off a cozy vibe, like your favorite aunt’s house: the aunt that was just slightly crazy, dressed either way too young or way too old for her age, and liked to knit booties for her cats.

Jean waved at Moblit behind the counter as he stepped into the back office to peel off his coat and take out his guitar, and then he made his way over to the small stage in the corner of the room. During the week, it usually sat empty or was used for the amateur poetry nights that the hipsters that were Hanji’s bread and butter seemed to love so much. But every Friday and Saturday, that little stage belonged to Jean, and he loved every second of it.

He ran his hands over the chords, checking the tuning, then began to play. Jean closed his eyes briefly, letting the notes wash over him. This was what he lived for, just himself, his music, and the crowd. He watched as the customers came and went, some staying just for a song or two, some staying for an entire set. He watched as worry lines smoothed out, as tense shoulders relaxed, as frowns turned into smiles, as still fingers started tapping along to the beat. He thought back to what his freckled guest had said, about people hearing magic like it was music. As far as Jean was concerned, music _was_ magic.

~~~~~

“Wow, good haul tonight, Jean,” Hanji grinned as she counted out his tip jar at the end of the night, separating out her usual five percent “stage fee” as she called it. She passed the rest over to him, “You sounded great tonight.”

“I always sound great,” he scoffed as he folded the bills into his wallet. He started to turn to leave when something occurred to him, “Hey, Hanji?”

“Hm?”

“You still looking for another part time barista?”

She paused from counting the till, “I haven’t found anyone yet. You know someone?”

“Yeah, sort of,” Jean rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m kind of helping out a friend from…out of town right now. He showed up a bit unexpectedly, and he could really use a job.”

“Oh?” Hanji leaned forward onto the counter, folding her hands together and propping her chin up on them. “So, is this guy a friend or a _friend_?”

Jean rolled his eyes, “No, I’m not fucking him. He’s just a regular friend.”

“Good. Then I won’t have to worry about replacing him when your relationship inevitably implodes in three months.” She ignored the death-glare Jean gave her and went back to the till. “Bring him in with you when you come in Tuesday.”

~~~~~

Jean was in a good mood when he unlocked the door to his apartment. He was still in a good mood when he saw Marco stretched out on the sofa under a blanket in the living room, asleep. That good mood continued right up until he shook Marco’s shoulder to wake him up and tell him about the job. And then that good mood abruptly shattered.

It was probably the ball of light whooshing past Jean’s face that did it.

He hadn't had much warning. The moment he’d touched Marco, the other man had opened his eyes with a startled gasp, and at the same time, Jean had heard a sharp ringing in his ears. He’d instinctively jerked backwards, and something bright had flown up right through the space where his face had been. Jean pulled back farther and ended up overbalancing. He landed right on his tailbone, gaping up at Marco and at the small glowing ball now floating harmlessly about a foot below his ceiling.

“Jean! I’m so sorry!” Marco leapt up to help Jean to his feet. “I guess I’m still a little jumpy…”

“Don’t …don’t worry about it. Um, Marco? What is that?”

“It’s just a light spell,” Marco smiled. “It looks like my magic still works here.”

“Um, right…” Jean stared at it for a while longer, debating with himself on whether he should freak out or not. Finally, he settled for just asking, “Why’s it humming?”

Marco tilted his head in confusion, “Humming? It doesn't make any noise; it’s just light.”

“You can’t fucking tell me you can’t hear that. It’s like…” Jean imitated the sound he heard coming from the light. And then he abruptly stopped when the ball started to grow larger and brighter. As soon as he did, the light stopped growing. He heard a sharp intake of breath beside him and looked over to meet Marco’s incredulous gaze.

_‘Just what the hell is going on?!’_

~~~~~

Marco was the first to recover, “Jean…”

“Holy fuck, did I just do that? I just did that… This is a dream, right? This has to be a dream, because I know I can’t be seeing what I’m seeing right n-“

“Jean.” Marco grabbed the shorter man by the shoulders. “Breathe.”

He watched as Jean took in a deep, shuddering breath and then slowly let it out. When he felt Jean’s tense shoulders start to relax a little under his fingers, he steered him over to the couch and gently pushed down until he was sitting. Marco sat down next to him, and Jean reached over and clicked on a lamp. As he did Marco noticed a heavy gold ring on Jean’s finger that he was sure hadn't been there before. “Where did you get that?” Marco gestured to the ring.

“Huh?” Jean looked down at his hand. “Oh, I got it from my grandfather a few years ago. Before he passed away.”

“May I see it?”

Jean shrugged, “Sure, knock yourself out.” Jean held out his hand, and Marco took it in his own, running his finger lightly over the design stamped in the gold. Jean kept his face turned away from him for some reason. A small part of Marco’s mind noted how calloused and rough the tips of Jean’s fingers were, but most of his attention was taken by the familiar shape of the crest.

“This is from Jinae…” Marco murmured quietly.

Jean turned his head back around at that, his eyebrows knitting together, “What’s Jinae?”

“My kingdom. My home.” Marco held his signet ring out next to Jean’s, “See? They’re almost identical. Mine has the Royal Seal on it. The crest on yours is one my family gives to people who perform a great service to the crown. The last person to receive it…” Marco paused and looked directly into Jean’s honey-colored eyes, “…was Johan Kirschstein.”

Jean’s eyes grew wide, and the hand that Marco was still holding twitched. “That’s my grandfather’s name…”

~~~~~

Jean pulled his hand away from Marco and buried it in his own hair. His mind was reeling. Within a span of a few minutes he’d had to come to term with the fact that magic was not only real, but apparently Jean might be able to control it, too, and that Marco really did come from another world, and now Marco was telling him that his _grandfather_ was from that world as well.

_‘Either that, or I am having a very involved and elaborate delusion. Or maybe when I stepped outside this morning I slipped on ice and cracked my head open, and I’m actually lying in the street and slowly dying right now.’_ Out loud, all he said was, “How did Grandpa even end up here?”

Marco shrugged, “The story I was told was that sixty years ago, Jinae was invaded by some Northern sorcerer. He attacked us with an army of trolls and ice giants and other dark creatures. Johan Kirschstein was a spellweaver, the only known Bardic spellweaver at the time, and he volunteered his services to the king, my grandfather. Thanks to his help, Jinae managed to win the war and the sorcerer and his army were destroyed, but it wasn't without a price. It took a long time, and a lot of people died during the course of the war, including Kirschstein’s wife. Shortly after the war, there was a huge celebration, and my grandfather presented the rose crest to Kirschstein. The next morning, he was gone from the castle without a trace. The only thing he left behind was a letter to my grandfather, saying that while he would always treasure his friendship and love Jinae as his home, there were too many painful memories for him to stay.” Marco leaned back into the couch, “No one was ever able to find him. All any of the wizards could ever determine was that he was still alive, but no longer in our world. People kept searching for him, occasionally even travelling to other dimensions themselves, but without knowing where he went it was like searching for a needle in a haystack. There are thousands of alternate worlds, if not more; finding one man, by chance, is almost impossible.” Marco bit his lip and looked down at his hands in his lap, absently twisting his ring around his finger.

Jean felt his chest constrict when he caught sight of the expression in Marco’s eyes. It was the same look of grief that had been there when he’d first found the man; the look that had compelled him to help him, instead of just calling a cop and then forgetting about the incident. He could guess why Marco looked that way. No one knew where _Marco_ was either. His body moved without thinking, and he reached out to place a hand on the other man’s shoulder, “Well, it can’t be that impossible. I mean, your brother managed to send you right to the same world at random. Right?” Jean shook Marco’s shoulder a bit and gave him a lop-sided grin.

Marco looked up into his eyes again, “Jean…”

“And I know I don’t know much about this magic shit, but it looks like I can use it, too. So I promise to do whatever I can to help you get back home.” Marco finally smiled again at that. Then, the next thing Jean knew, he was being engulfed in a tight hug and Marco was pressing his face into Jean’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Jean. Really. You have no idea…” Marco’s voice trailed off as his shoulders shook a little. Jean instinctively returned the hug, running his hand in a soothing line down Marco’s back. Meanwhile, he tried _very_ hard not to think about how warm Marco was or how strong his arms were or how he smelled faintly like cinnamon. He ended up stopping himself just before he buried his nose into Marco’s hair.

_‘Jesus, Kirschstein, how hard up are you? Has it **really** been so long since you've been laid that you can’t hug a guy without being creepy?’_  Jean gently disentangled himself from Marco, “It’s late; we should probably get to bed. I need to take you shopping tomorrow.”

“Shopping?” Marco surreptitiously wiped his eyes. Jean pretended not to notice.

“Yeah. We've got to get you some clothes of your own. Especially since I've got you a job interview in a couple days.”

Marco looked at Jean with wide eyes for a moment before sitting up straighter, his expression growing solemn. He closed his right hand into a fist and brought it up to his chest, in front of his heart, with his thumb facing outward, “I swear to you, Jean Kirschstein, that I will someday repay all the kindness you've shown me.”

Jean felt his face growing warm as he realized, _‘Holy shit, he really is a prince.’_

Immediately following that came another thought, _‘Holy shit, he’s hot.’_

~~~~~

Shopping with Marco was an experience.

First, there was the near heart attack Jean suffered when he had to yank Marco back to stop him from stepping out into the street and right in front of a moving car. Then there was the way he kneeled backwards on the bus seat so he could press his nose right against the glass and gape at the city moving past, asking Jean a million questions about everything he saw. Jean found himself answering with what was, for him, surprising patience. Normally, this kind of shit would annoy the hell out of him, but for some reason he found it adorable when Marco did it.

Marco’s expression when they entered the mall was priceless, like someone seeing the Louvre for the first time. Even the clothing store had fascinated him; he’d been amazed that there were so many clothes there in so many different sizes, all ready to wear without having to wait on a tailor. Jean may have taken advantage of that fascination a bit by having Marco try on more clothes than was strictly necessary. As a result, besides the few pairs of slacks and the handful of button-up shirts Jean had been intending to get, he’d also ended up buying Marco a pair of dark blue jeans that made his ass look _fantastic_ and a blue-grey cardigan that emphasized how broad his shoulders were. Jean justified it by telling himself that he’d made good tips the other night and besides, if he couldn't wear the clothes himself, he could at least enjoy the view.

They’d gotten a pizza for dinner that night. Marco declared it “amazing” and proceeded to stuff himself into a food coma.

Monday came and went fairly uneventfully. Jean had a ton of laundry he had been putting off, so he had Marco help him haul his clothes down to the tenant laundry room. The rest of the day was spent lounging around Jean’s apartment. The TV was on, but eventually they ended up talking about their childhoods. Jean spoke mostly about his grandfather, and the huge family gatherings they would have every holiday (Jean had three aunts and an uncle on his father’s side, and he’d long since lost count of his cousins). For his part, Marco talked mostly about his parents or his little sister, Mina. He didn’t talk much about himself, but Jean understood why. After all, he was a twin. There probably wasn't any way for Marco to talk about himself without also having to talk about the brother that had betrayed him.

~~~~~

The next day, Marco was a bit disappointed to learn that they’d be walking to the coffee shop; he’d been looking forward to riding the bus again. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Marco’s sheer enthusiasm for everything was a bit contagious, and so Jean found himself pushing open the door to The Sunny Bean a good half hour before his shift was supposed to start.

The shop was empty inside, the lunch rush long since over and the evening rush not yet started. Moblit craned his head out of the kitchen when he heard the chimes over the door go off and gave Jean a wave before he went back to whatever he was doing. Figuring Hanji to be in the office, he headed over there, Marco following closely on his heels.

When he got there, he saw the door was open a crack. Jean was just about to push it open the rest of the way when a low male voice coming from the other side stopped him in his tracks.

“…I don’t give a shit about the goddamn grandson, Hanji. We need you back here before this fucking shitstorm explodes in our faces.”

“But he’s got the Gift; I can tell! He’s just not ready to hear the truth yet.” That was Hanji’s voice. “I've spent ten _years_ of my life on this; you _can’t_ pull me back now when I’m _this_ close to-“

“I fucking can, and I fucking will. The whole capital is panicking like a priest that got caught balls deep in a choir boy.”

“What happened?”

“The prince vanished right from the middle of the goddamned castle three days ago, that’s what happened.”

“He’s missing _again_?”

“No, shit-for-brains, would I call you home for that? It’s the other one this time. Worse, right after that, something happened to the king, and suddenly the eldest is fucking regent, and no one’s hearing a goddamn word from the queen or the princess. The whole thing stinks like a cesspit. I don’t trust that shit-stain as far as I can throw him; he always was a weird little fucker, but there’s been something off about him ever since that disappearing act he pulled last year. So get your shitty glasses back here, with or without the Kirschstein kid.”

Jean started at hearing his name and looked over his shoulder at Marco to see the other man standing stock still, an expression of shock on his face. Then suddenly Marco’s expression hardened, his mouth pressing into a determined line, and he was pushing past Jean and into the office. Just as Marco flung open the door, Jean heard Moblit squeak in alarm. He glanced over towards the kitchen to see the brown-haired man hurrying toward them. He looked back into the office over Marco’s shoulder just in time to see Hanji twitch the cloth back into place over the full-length mirror that she always kept covered in the corner of the room. She spun around to face them as Marco strode into the room, Jean following after.

Moblit came panting up into the doorway behind them, “Sorry, Hanji, I-“

“Don’t worry.” She grinned at them (a bit too brightly) “Jean! You’re here early! So, this must be the friend you were talking about, right?”

“Um, yeah…hey, Hanji? I heard you say my name just now before we came in. Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, that? That was just an…investor. On the phone. You know, checking up on the business, seeing how we’re doing. I was just telling him how you’re really bringing in extra business on the weekends,” she laughed nervously, waving her hands in front of her face.

“No, you weren't,” Marco spoke quietly but firmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That was Captain Levi just now, wasn't it? I want to talk to him.”

Hanji froze, “How do you…?”

Just then, Jean felt a hand on his shoulder push him aside. At the same time, a discordant screech rang in his ear. As he stumbled, Jean shouted out a warning, “Marco, look out!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Marco whipped around, one hand held palm out. There was a flash of white, and Moblit cried out and gripped one hand as a short metal rod clattered to the floor. The two of them stayed like that, glaring at each other, Moblit shaking his hand as if it stung and Marco keeping his hand raised as if warning the other man not to move.

And then Hanji was grabbing Marco’s arm to peer at the ring he wore. She stared at it for a second and then let out a shriek, yanking his arm harder. Marco stumbled forward and bent over, and as soon as he did, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head to her chest in a tight embrace, “Your Highness! It’s so good you’re safe!”

“It’s, uh, good to be safe.” He tried to pull away, but Hanji was a lot stronger than she looked, “Uh, can I have my head back, please?”

“Oh! Sorry!” She released him, and he straightened up. Marco started to open his mouth, but Hanji cut him off, “So what happened, anyway? Levi said the capital is a mess right now.”

Marco held up his hands, “I don’t really know _what’s_ happening at home, and as for the rest, it’ll be easier to tell you all at once, so, _please_ , can I talk to Captain Levi now?”

“Of course!” Hanji rushed back over to the mirror, Marco following close behind. Jean and Moblit moved behind them to where they could watch as well, after exchanging equally dumbfounded looks as if to say _‘No, I don’t know what the hell is going on, either.’_

Hanji did tend to have that effect on people.

Hanji eagerly positioned Marco squarely in front of the mirror before whipping the cloth off with a dramatic flourish. For a split second, Jean saw all their reflections staring back at him, and then the glass clouded as a low hum echoed through the room. When the image cleared, Jean let out a soft gasp.

The mirror now showed a small room- no, it was the inside of a tent, a glimpse of trees just visible through the slightly open door flap. Central in the image was a man. He was wearing what looked like a uniform: a white shirt tucked into tight white trousers, knee-high brown leather boots, and a brown leather jacket with a military cut. He had straight black hair styled in a severe undercut and heavy-lidded, pale eyes.

And he looked _pissed_.

“I swear to God, Hanji, if you _ever_ cut me off like that again, I’ll shove my boot so far up your ass you’ll be tasting leather for a week.” Suddenly the man blinked as he realized the person he was facing _wasn’t_ Hanji, “Holy hell, kid…”

“Hello, Captain,” Marco smiled at the image in the mirror, “Sorry I wasn't there to meet you the other day. I’m afraid I was…detained.”

“No fucking shit. What happened?”

“I’ll get to that, but could you get Commander Erwin first? He needs to hear this. Oh, and it might be a good idea to bring in Armin, too.”

The man, _Levi_ , gave a curt nod and stalked away from the mirror to stick his head out of the tent’s opening, “Eren! Get your tail over here!” Jean could hear him talking to someone outside, and then a few minutes later, two men entered the tent. They were both blond and blue eyed and dressed similarly to Levi. One of them was a little taller than Levi, his long hair pulled back from his face in a pony-tail. He looked like he was close to Jean’s age, early twenties or so. The other man looked older, and he was either extremely tall or Levi was just _really_ short. Or maybe it was both. And his _face_ …

Jean turned to Moblit and whispered behind his hand, “Hey, why didn’t you guys tell me you knew Captain America personally?”

Moblit looked at Jean for a second, then glanced in the mirror. He pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh before responding, “Well, we don’t like to brag.”

Jean gave a short chuckle and turned back to the mirror.

The tall blond was standing at attention, his left hand behind his back and his right in front of his heart in the same gesture Marco had made the other night. “Your Highness, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

“Probably about as glad as I am to see _you_ , Commander.” Marco smiled, “I’m wondering, though, why you haven’t returned to the capital yet.”

Erwin brought his hand back down to his side, “Historia warned us. She said to come here and wait for you.”

Levi nodded behind him, “We were almost to the rendezvous point when Christa screamed and went into trance. I sent Eren into the city to see what was going on, and that’s how we found out about your disappearance and the king’s collapse.” Levi raised one slender eyebrow at Marco, inviting him to fill in the blanks.

Marco looked down and took a deep breath before raising his head, “It was Lucio. He ambushed me in the castle and banished me here.”

The shorter blond, who Jean assumed must be Armin by process of elimination, peered around Erwin and frowned, “But Lucio’s magic isn't that strong. He shouldn’t have been able to open a Gate.”

“No, he  _wasn't_  that strong. But he is, now,” Marco paused, looking at Armin before fixing his gaze back on Erwin, “He’s demon-touched.”

Everyone reacted to that bit of news. Hanji’s hands flew up to her mouth, and Jean could see Moblit turn pale out of the corner of his eye. In the mirror, Armin gasped and took a step back while Levi let loose an impressive stream of curses. Only Erwin seemed calm, but Jean could see his jaw clenching. Eventually, he slowly said, “This is…not good.”

“Not good?” Levi glared up at the tall man, “Erwin, getting a boil on your dick is ‘not good.’ This is a fucking disaster. We've got a goddamned _demon_ sitting on the throne, and those fucking idiots in the Guard would follow orders from a basilisk as long as it was wearing a shiny enough crown.”

Armin seemed to be remembering something, “It was the night of the full moon the day Lucio got lost in the forest…”

“And it was the day after the new moon that he came back,” Levi finished for him. “Fuck. It was right under our noses the entire time, and we didn't fucking see it.”

Erwin waved his hand, cutting them off, “It’s not as bad as it could be. Thanks to Historia, we’re outside the city and free to act, and now we _know_ what we’re up against. We can gather support among the nobles and launch a counter-attack before Lucio has time to consolidate his power. It’ll be easier with Prince Marco here with us.” Erwin smiled, “I doubt he expected us to find his brother so easily.”

Levi snorted, “Lucky for us the dumb shit didn’t just kill him.”

“He couldn't,” Armin piped up. “Death leaves traces, even if you destroy the body, and you can’t send bodies through Gates, only living people. He was probably counting on either whatever world Marco ended up on killing him, or at least him being trapped there.”

“Um, I’d really appreciate it if we could talk less about my theoretical death and more about getting me home.”

Erwin nodded at Marco, “Right. Hanji.”

“Sir?”

“How long before you’re ready to open a Gate?”

She tapped her finger against her glasses as she thought, “Give me about…three hours. That should give me enough time to get my affairs in order here.”

“Alright. You get it up on your end, and we’ll have Armin do the same here. Then you and Moblit can cross with the prince. Armin can send you the coordinates.” He turned back to Marco with a smile. “See you soon, Your Highness.”

This time, all three of them saluted Marco. As they did, Hanji reached up to twitch the cover back into place.

“Wait!”

Everyone both inside and outside the mirror stared at Jean, and he blushed under the scrutiny. He wasn't entirely sure why he’d shouted, but he knew he had to say something. He opened his mouth.

And words that he would _swear_ he had not intended to say came tumbling out.

“I want to go, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. There was more exposition.
> 
> Also, I, as always, had way too much fun writing Levi.
> 
> Lyrics credit: "Something's Missing" by John Mayer


	5. Homecoming

_Oh, another social casualty_  
 _Score one more for me_  
 _How could I forget?_  
 _Mama said, "Think before speaking"_  
 _No filter in my head_  
 _Oh, what's a boy to do_  
 _I guess he better find one soon_

_One more thing_  
 _Why is it my fault?_  
 _So maybe I try too hard_  
 _But it's all because of this desire_  
 _Just wanna be liked_  
 _Just wanna be funny_  
 _Looks like the joke's on me_  
 _So call me "Captain Backfire"_

~~~~~

“I want to go, too."

Marco’s eyes locked onto Jean’s, staring deep into them as if he were searching for something. Finally, he spoke, “Jean.” His words came slowly, carefully, “Are you sure about this? I’m going home to a war, and you've already done more than enough, and… And Jinae isn't your world. This isn't your fight.”

“Isn't it?” Jean’s hands clenched, his thumb rubbing up against his grandfather’s ring. He wasn't sure, not entirely. So much had happened in the past few days, his mind _still_ reeled trying to process it all. Everything he learned just brought up so many more questions. And, sure, it would be easy, would probably even be _smart_ , to just…let it all go. Let Marco, Hanji, and Moblit leave and pretend that none of this had happened. To forget that he had ever heard anything about magic or wars or demons or princes. To go back to the ordinary, boring life he’d had before a certain freckled man had come crashing into it. But…

He couldn't.

Call it fate. Call it duty. Call it stubbornness. Hell, call it morbid fucking curiosity. Jean couldn't let it go. He couldn't forget. He couldn't let Marco go off to face God knows what, taking all of Jean’s answers, all of Jean’s _hopes_ for answers with him.

And he couldn't fight the twisting fear in his gut that if he said goodbye to Marco here, he’d never see him again.

He decided that now probably wasn't the best time to explore _why_ the thought of never seeing Marco again bothered him so much.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not my world, but...it’s a place my grandfather loved. He loved it enough to fight for it, no matter what he lost. And he didn't leave until it was safe. I think…I think if he were in my place, he’d want to go back.” Jean took a deep breath, “I don’t know if I’ll be much help. Hell, I might just end up doing something stupid and get myself killed, but I can’t just sit back and pretend like I’m not involved in any of this. I’m not that much of a coward.” He laughed, “Besides, it’s not like I had much going for me here, anyway. Seeing as I just lost my job and all.”

Jean watched a myriad of expressions flicker across Marco’s eyes, chief among them surprise, gratitude, and more than a bit of concern. Then the other man blinked rapidly a few times before smiling. His voice when he spoke was thick with emotion, “I don’t really know what to say. ‘Thank you’ just doesn't seem adequate.”

Next to Marco, Jean could see Hanji’s eyes flick speculatively between himself and Marco before her lips curled in a satisfied smile. Before she could say anything, however, a snort sounded from the mirror.

“That’s great, kid. Welcome aboard. Now, if you've all got your feelings diarrhea out of the way, we've got a lot of work to do.” With that, Levi turned unceremoniously on his heel and started to walk away. He paused with his hand on the tent flap to bark over his shoulder, “Arlert! Don’t you have some preparations to make?”

Armin jumped, “Oh! Yes, sir! Coming!” He sketched out a hasty salute to Marco before running out into the encampment after the shorter man.

Erwin watched the both of them leave before turning back to the mirror with a small shake of his head, “Well, I should see about setting some patrols to secure the area before Levi moans at me about making him do all the work. Your Highness. Hanji.” Erwin gave one last salute to Marco and then nodded at Hanji. As Hanji reached up to cover the mirror again, Jean thought he briefly saw the Commander’s eyes meet his own, the expression unreadable. Then the cloth was in place, the connection severed, and Hanji was ushering them all outside.

Thirty minutes later, Jean was sitting next to Marco in the back seat of Hanji's truck as the four of them headed from his apartment to Hanji's house on the outskirts of Trost. “So, um, Hanji?” Jean surreptitiously reached over to make his violin case more secure against the seat while he used his knees to brace his guitar, “How long have you been here?”

She started to turn around in the seat to face him but was stopped by a quiet “Watch the road, Hanji,” from Moblit.

Instead, she looked at him through the rearview mirror, “About four years now. Once I’d verified that this was the right world, it took a little while to track down Johan’s relatives.”

“Ah. And is it, uh,” he trailed off as the truck whipped around another corner, “is it… _legal_ for you to be driving?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Oops, there’s my street!” She spun the wheel, hard, and Jean clutched at his seat belt and whimpered. He could _swear_ he felt two tires leave the ground that time. When she finally pulled into her driveway and stopped, Jean practically tore off his seat belt and threw open the door; he couldn't get out of that metal deathtrap fast enough. Hanji rolled her eyes at him as she climbed out, “Stop being such a drama queen."

Jean just "tch"ed at her as he grabbed his instruments and a duffel bag full of mostly just clothes. He’d left his cellphone behind at his apartment. Speaking of his apartment…

“Are you sure I shouldn't have gotten hold of my landlord and paid an extra month’s rent or something?”

Hanji grinned at him as she unlocked the door and motioned everyone to follow her inside, “I told you Jean; it’s taken care of. You’ll still have your apartment when you come back, no matter _how_ long from now that is.”

“What, the rent’s just gonna magically pay itself?”

“Hm, more like your landlord will forget that apartment is even there.” Once they were all inside, Hanji led the way down the hall and unlocked another door. It opened to reveal a set of steps leading down into the basement. “Alright, you boys just follow Moblit, and I’ll be down shortly. Oh, and don’t touch anything. Just in case!”

Jean was just about to ask her in case of what when she shut the door behind him. He shrugged and turned back, fixing his gaze on Marco’s broad shoulders. The two of them followed Moblit down the stairs and into a large, open room that seemed to take up most of the basement. As Jean stopped and looked around, he felt like he'd stepped into a mad scientist's lab. A large slate table stood in the middle of the floor, and smaller tables and cabinets lined the walls. There were beakers and tubes everywhere, some of them filled with oddly colored liquids that bubbled or smoked behind the glass. Moblit motioned them over to a relatively clear corner of the room, and Jean settled in on the floor next to Marco. He very carefully avoided brushing against the tables; he didn't even want to _think_ what would happen if he accidentally broke something. Knowing his luck, he'd probably end up turning himself into an armadillo.

While they waited, Moblit pulled out several long metal bars from one of the cabinets. He fitted them together, making a sort of empty door frame, which he then set into brackets against one of the walls. Then, he took out several different colored lengths of chalk and started filling the wall and the floor around the frame with odd symbols. Something about them made Jean's eyes start to waver as he looked at them. He ended up having to look away, rapidly blinking his eyes to clear them. When he did, he ended up meeting Marco's gaze. The other man's lips twitched up in a smile, and he nodded. Jean was reassured that he wasn't going crazy, or, at least if he was, he wasn't the only one.

Eventually, Hanji joined them. She'd changed into the same uniform the men in the mirror had been wearing and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. She took over inscribing the wall briefly while Moblit left to change as well, and when he came back, she used a mirror to contact Armin again. Jean couldn't hear what they were talking about, but it must have been something to do with the "coordinates" as Hanji appeared to be relaying instructions to Moblit as he finished marking the wall.

Jean must have dozed off at one point, because the next thing he knew someone was shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Marco standing over him, hand extended, "It's time."

Wordlessly, Jean took the proffered hand and hauled himself to his feet. He stuffed his violin, still in its case, into his duffel where it would be more secure and slung his guitar over his back. Then he joined the others on the far side of the room. Hanji nodded at him, and then she reached up with a short rod and touched the center of the frame.

The metal started to glow bluish-white, the light spreading down until it filled the makeshift doorway. Squinting into it, Jean thought he could vaguely see a green field backed by trees, with some shadowy figures standing there. He could also hear a strange, lilting melody, but he suspected that no one else could. Hanji stepped back with a satisfied grin and turned to face Marco, “Alright, I’ll go through first. Count to ten, and then follow me. Jean, do the same after His Highness. Moblit’ll go last and close the Gate behind him.” And with that, she stepped through the glowing portal.

The light pulsed once, and then she was gone. Jean stared at the space where she had been, still not quite believing what he was seeing. He jumped a little when he felt someone take his hand and looked to the left to see Marco smiling at him, “Ready, Jean?”

Jean took a deep breath, “Y-yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” He tried to return the smile, but it felt like it came out more like a smirk.

Marco squeezed his hand before letting go. Jean watched him walk up to the Gate and square his shoulders. And then he moved forward and was swallowed up by the light.

Then it was Jean’s turn. He stared into the scene he thought he could see through the Gate. Were there maybe more shadowy figures there than there were before? With a start, he realized he forgot to start counting, but before he could panic he felt Moblit’s hand clasp his shoulder. “Go ahead, Jean. It might help to close your eyes if your nervous.”

“Tch. I’m fine.” Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, he quickly stepped forward before he could lose his nerve.

His foot landed on…nothing.

If someone could take that brief moment at the start of the big drop on a roller coaster, that moment where it feels like your stomach starts to fall before you do, and somehow make that sensation feel like it lasted both for an eternity and for no time at all, that _might_ come close to describing how it felt to pass through the Gate. Jean was surrounded by nothing, supported by nothing. No sound, taste, sight, smell, touch, just the sense that he was moving incredibly far at an incredibly fast speed and yet that he was also somehow frozen in time and space.

As abruptly as it began, it was over. The dark gold sunlight of late afternoon washed over him and the sound of birdsong burst into the air around him. Jean could feel a warm breeze blowing over his skin and smell the grass under his feet. And then a wave of nausea hit him, and he was clamping a hand over his mouth as he forced it down. Marco was immediately at his side, patting his back and making concerned, soothing noises, mostly along the order of “Shh, just breathe,” and “It’ll pass soon.” The small part of Jean’s mind _not_ desperately concentrating on preventing his stomach from emptying everything he’d eaten in the last week was instead wishing he was in a state where he could appreciate the attention more.

“Oh my God, Hanji, why didn't you warn me?” Jean gritted out as his stomach started to settle.

She just laughed, “You’re actually doing pretty good. I threw up my first time through a Gate. The next time won’t be so bad.”

“Fuck ‘next time.’ I am never doing that again. No fucking way.” Jean closed his eyes and straightened up, taking a deep breath. Marco gave him one last sympathetic pat before pulling away. Behind him, the music he could hear from the Gate stopped; Moblit must have come through and closed the portal.

"Your Highness. Welcome home." A deep voice nearby caused him to open his eyes. Commander Erwin was clasping Marco's hand, the other two men Jean had seen in the mirror, Levi and Armin, standing behind him. Erwin was smiling in what seemed to be a mixture of genuine happiness to see Marco and relief. Armin wore a near mirror of his expression, while Levi just looked bored.

"Thank you, Erwin. Although, it's really because of Jean that I'm even here at all," came Marco's soft-spoken reply, and Jean shifted nervously as Erwin's sharp gaze focused on him.

"Ah, yes. The Kirschstein boy Hanji's been cultivating."

"Cultivating?" Jean glanced over at Hanji. She seemed to have suddenly developed an intense fascination with her fingernails and wouldn't meet his gaze.

Erwin chuckled, "Well, we can discuss that later. Erwin Smith." He gripped Jean's hand in a firm handshake, "Welcome to the Scouts, Kirschstein." He was smiling, but there was something very calculating in his calm blue eyes. Jean got the feeling that the man didn't miss much, if anything.

Levi snorted, "Try to sound _more_ like a recruiting poster, why don't you? Let's get back to camp. This place is too exposed; it makes me nervous." Without waiting for a reply, he turned toward the trees and placed two fingers in his mouth, emitting a piercing whistle. Shortly after, a shadow came bolting out of the forest and headed straight for them. At first, Jean thought it was a dog, but as it got closer he realized it was a wolf. An absolutely massive, shaggy black wolf.

As the animal trotted to a halt in front of Levi, Jean subconsciously took a step closer to Marco. The creature was far larger than any wolf Jean had ever seen before; its head almost came even with Levi's. Granted, Levi was about five foot nothing, but a wolf still shouldn't be that tall. It sat down facing the Captain, and its mouth lolled open, "The area is secure, sir."

Before he could stop himself, Jean blurted out, "What the fuck is a talking wolf doing here?"

The creature looked over its shoulder at Jean, its bright gold eyes narrowing. Its lip curled up in a snarl, and it growled out, "I don't know. What the fuck is a talking _horse_ doing here?"

Marco cleared his throat, "Jean, this is Eren, one of the Scouts. Eren, this is Jean. He's the one that saved my life."

The wolf glared at Jean for a moment more, and then its entire form blurred. Jean blinked and found himself staring at a young man just a little shorter than himself with unruly brown hair and brilliant teal eyes. He was dressed in the same uniform as the others. Jean felt his jaw dropping open, and, once again, he voiced the first thought that popped into his head, "What the... What are you, some kinda werewolf?"

The effect on Eren was immediate. His eyebrows drew together in a heavy scowl as his eyes flashed with anger. He took a step forward, fists clenching, "What the _hell_ did you just fucking-!"

He was cut short by Levi slapping him on the back of the head, "Jaeger! Watch your tongue! Did you forget that you are standing in front of your prince?"

Eren flushed scarlet and looked down, mumbling, "Sorry, sir."

"Eren," Erwin stepped forward, forestalling Levi from dressing down the young man further, "we're heading back now. Go scout the path ahead and let the others know we'll be there shortly."

"Yes, sir!" In an instant, the wolf was standing in Eren's place, and he took off, quickly disappearing into the trees on the other end of the clearing. The rest of them followed, somewhat more slowly.

"Eren's a Shifter, not a werewolf. He's...a little defensive about the difference."

Jean looked to his right to see that Armin had moved up to pace him as they made their way down the path through the trees. "What is the difference?"

"Werewolves are cursed; they don't have any control over their changes, and they're mindless beasts when the curse is active. Shifters have an animal form they can change into at will, and they keep their human mind. Eren's form just happens to be a wolf, but people are so terrified of werewolves that it's...well, it's caused him problems in the past." Armin shrugged, "That's really his story to tell, though."

"Oh. Sorry." Jean scratched the back of his neck. _'Great job, Kirschstein. Making friends left and right with your usual tact, aren't you?'_

"It's not me you need to be apologizing to."

"Yeah, I know."

Armin hummed in response and let the subject drop. Instead, he filled Jean in on exactly what it was the Scouts did. He was rather surprised to learn that they were actually founded during the last war by his grandfather, in order to combat magical threats that the regular army couldn't handle. In times of peace, that meant patrolling the countryside and eliminating any Dark creatures they found trying to sneak in. Several of the members could either use magic, like Armin, Hanji, and Moblit, or they _were_ magic, like Eren and Levi (who was a half-Elf (which probably explained his lack of height, now that Jean thought about it)). The rest of them were specially trained in various anti-magic techniques. Erwin, for example, had been a paladin, before he decided his skills would be better put to use serving the king than the church.

By the time Jean had gotten the basic run-down from Armin, the camp had come into view, a sea of forest-green tents arranged in rows with military precision in a large clearing. A huge crowd was already waiting to greet them, swarming around Marco and the Commander. Jean was mostly ignored, until he heard Erwin say the name "Kirschstein," and suddenly Jean was at the center of a flurry of introductions. Most of the names he forgot right away, but a few people stood out.

There was Mikasa, a beautiful dark-haired woman with an aura of deadly competence. Armin mentioned that she was Eren's foster sister, and, fuck, he was still going to have to try to find a moment to apologize to the angry-looking young man that was glaring at him from the back of the crowd.

Christa, the name that Levi had mentioned, turned out to be a petite blonde woman who seemed to be very sweet natured. Staying very close to her side was Ymir, a tall freckled brunette. Armin whispered to him that Ymir was the only other Shifter in the Scouts, and Jean made a mental note not to say the word werewolf, or were- _anything_ , around her.

Bertholt and Reiner were probably the most physically intimidating of the group. Dark-haired Bertholt was nearly a literal giant, towering over even Erwin, and blond Reiner, while not quite as tall, was built like a freaking tank. He could probably bench-press Bertholt and okay, that was an interesting mental picture that Jean's stupid brain needed to stop thinking of _right the fuck now_.

Seemingly inseparable from them was Annie, another tiny blonde woman. Although not as imposing, physically, as the other two, she more than made up for it with her icy demeanor. Although Reiner gave off a vibe of easy approachability and Bertholt seemed shy and almost nervous, something about Annie just scared the piss out of Jean, so he ended up, somewhat subconsciously, giving the trio a bit of a wide berth as the evening went on.

However, there were two among the Scouts, besides Armin and Hanji, that Jean could tell right away that he could actually be friends with. Which was a good thing, because it didn't seem the two of them were going to give him much choice on the matter.

~~~~~

It was dinnertime, everyone in the camp gathered around the fires. Jean and Marco had both been given spare uniforms to wear, seeing as the clothes they had turned out to be too hot for the weather. It was summer here; the beginning of the month of Brachet, which Hanji had helpfully translated for Jean as "June." Marco also now wore a sword belted around his waist, and he moved with it as naturally as if he'd been born wearing it. Jean only had a dagger for now; Levi had given it to him with the admonishment that "the pointy end goes toward the enemy, brat." As they ate dinner, Marco offered to give Jean fencing lessons, along with his magic lessons, once they reached a safer place. Currently, Erwin was heading for a local noble by the name of Zacharius. Apparently he was an old friend of Erwin's as well as a former Scout himself, giving them a bit of certainty that his loyalties would lay with Marco.

As Marco and Jean talked about the march that would begin tomorrow, a short man with a shaved head plopped himself down on Jean's other side. His name was Connie, and, from what Jean had gathered from Armin, he was some sort of warrior-monk. He was also one of the Scouts that had been friendliest to Jean from the start. "So, Jean," he grinned up at him, "Is it true that you're a Bard?"

Taken aback by the question, Jean's eyes darted over to Marco, but the other man just smiled and nodded at him. Jean turned back to Connie, 'Um, yeah, I guess. I don't really have much experience yet, though."

"That is so cool! I've never met a real Bard before." The exclamation came from Connie's friend, Sasha, as she settled down next to them, carefully balancing a huge bowl of stew and an entire loaf of bread. It was at least her third helping, but you couldn't really blame someone for eating like a horse when they literally _were_ a horse. Or at least, half of one.

Sasha was an honest-to-goodness, living, breathing centaur. Her human body ended at the waist, blending into the body of a small, chestnut mare at where the neck would be on a normal horse. The hair on her head was the same chestnut color as her hide, and she wore it tied back out of her face in a ponytail.

Connie rolled his eyes as he leaned his back into her side. "Of course you haven't, doofus. No one here is old enough to have."

Sasha shifted slightly, adjusting the bow and arrows she carried in a harness over her withers. "Levi might have. Ymir, too."

Connie shrugged, "Maybe. Neither of them will say how old they are. They could be thirty or three hundred for all we know. I only know Eren's our age 'cause Armin said he grew up with him and Mikasa."

Jean blinked at them, "Wait, Levi could seriously be _three hundred_ years old?"

It was Marco that answered, "The Fey are long-lived. Half-elves can live nearly a thousand years, and Shifters live almost as long. There aren't very many of either, though. Most of them try to blend into human society; the Fairy Courts tend to look down on the partial-human races."

"Huh." Jean looked across the fire to where Eren sat with Armin and Mikasa, laughing at something the wizard had said. He wondered, briefly, what it would be like to watch the people you love age and die while you stayed young. He then looked over to where Levi stood apart from the rest of the camp, watching over the soldiers with half-lidded eyes from the edge of the firelight. He wondered then if Levi _knew_ what it was like to be left behind.

Jean shivered despite the lingering heat of the evening and turned his attention back to Connie and Sasha who had somehow turned the conversation around to pranks they'd played on the uptight Captain during their training, and the punishments that followed after.

~~~~~

Later that night, Jean paused as he was making his way back to the main camp after taking care of an urgent call of nature. For some reason, he suddenly felt intensely uneasy. As he glanced around nervously, he realized that the forest had gone completely still, all the small rustlings of leaves and chirping insects conspicuously absent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glint of red and cursed, whipping around to face it as his hand fumbled for the dagger at his belt.

Then he stopped, his hand pressing over his wildly beating heart as he realized that the red color had been firelight from the nearby camp glinting off the reflective eyes of a large bird perched in a tree a few feet away.

"Jean? Is everything okay?" Sound returned to the forest and the uneasy feeling ebbed as Jean saw Marco picking his way through the trees toward him, the occasional twig snapping under his feet.

Jean chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, "Yeah, I'm fine." He looked back up at the bird that was still watching him, unblinking. "You've got some really ugly-ass owls around here."

It was true. Its feathers were ragged, as if they were half-rotting from its body, and something about its proportions just seemed...off. In the darkness, it was hard to tell what color it was, although "mud" seemed to be a fitting description, and its eyes were huge pits, completely black from lid to lid.

Next to him, Jean heard Marco suck in a quick breath through his teeth just before he heard the ringing of steel. And then Marco was standing protectively in front of him, sword in one hand, magical energy gathering around the other. "That's not an owl."

Before Jean could ask him what was going on, the bird's beak opened. And it _kept_ opening, wider, wider, impossibly wide, until Jean was staring over Marco's shoulder and into a maw that seemed to take up the entire space where the creature's head had been.

Jean expected the thing to screech. A screech would have been reassuringly normal. What issued instead was a low, creaking moan, like the last breath of life escaping from a pair of wizened lungs. A shiver went up Jean's spine as the sound seemed to bring to mind images of abandoned tombs and half-opened coffins.

There was a bright flash as Marco released a bolt of magic, but he was too late. The creature launched itself into the air as the spell cracked the branch beneath it. It circled them once before it sped off into the night, a slightly darker shade amongst the shadows of the forest.

~~~~~

Lucio entered his chambers, whistling. All in all, it had been a very productive day. As he walked over to his vanity, he pulled an object wrapped in a scrap of leather from his belt pouch. He had a present for his little brother; it was only too bad he couldn't actually _give_ it to him. But before Lucio could establish the connection through the mirrors, a tapping on his window pane interrupted him.

 _‘Ah, right. The potoo.’_ He’d sent it out earlier to pinpoint the Scouts’ location. Although Marco’s absence had effectively clipped their wings, Erwin was not the kind of man it was wise to leave unattended. That they’d gone this long without contacting the capital meant that they suspected _something_ was wrong, and Lucio was not so much of a fool that he’d let them act as they pleased.

He threw open the casement, allowing the bird to fly inside. It settled onto its perch, bobbing its head and letting out a low, quiet moan as Lucio walked over to it. He extended his hand, placing two fingers under the bird’s beak and lifting its head up so he could peer directly into its soulless, black eyes.

And then he was pulling his arm back, his hand clenching into a fist as a red-hot wave of sheer _rage_ shook his body. He had expected to find the Scouts in disarray, confused, panicked. Possibly Erwin would have aligned himself with one of the rural lords. But instead...

Instead, he’d seen the camp organized, preparing for war, and his brother, _his cursed brother_ , in the midst of them, dressed in their uniform, talking closely with a sharp-featured man that Lucio had never seen before. How?! How had they managed to find him?!

In the midst of his fury, he heard a soft, throaty chuckle echo in his mind. _‘My darling prince,’_ the voice purred, _‘are things not going according to plan?’_ She laughed again, and then his mind, and its passenger, went silent once more.

Plan, yes. Lucio took a deep breath, stilling himself, fighting the urge to turn the potoo into a mess of blood and feathers against his wall. The creature had only done the job asked of it, after all. Instead of venting himself in needless, if satisfying, anger, what Lucio needed to do right now was plan. Luckily, he was not the type to take anything for granted; he already had a contingency in place.

_‘Looks like I’ll have to use those three after all.’_

Picking up the bundle from his vanity, Lucio slowly undid the bindings and tossed the contents to the potoo. There was no purpose in showing it to Marco now, and, besides, his pet deserved a payment, even if the news was not what Lucio wanted to hear. And it wasn't as if Thomas had any use for it any longer.

There was a sickening crunch of bone as the bird caught the bloody object in midair. A smile curved the corners of Lucio’s lips as he watched the hand disappear down the potoo’s gullet, the fingers wiggling almost as if in farewell. Today _had_ been a productive day.

He turned to his window, watching the lights of the city nestled around the castle slowly wink out as the night progressed. His thoughts turned dark as he mulled over his brother and what was to be done.

 _‘So, Marco, you think to use the Scouts to take my throne from me.’_ Lucio snorted. When the two of them had been going through their knight training, Marco had always favored the Scouts, choosing to take his lessons in strategy from the then newly appointed Commander. He’d even accompanied them on several of their patrols around the kingdom, helping to root out Dark creatures and magicians whenever they tried to creep past the borders of Jinae. Of course, that sort of thing made him disgustingly popular with the peasants. _Why_ Marco had found it necessary to curry favor with the rabble, Lucio had never understood. But, one thing was clear: Marco trusted the Scouts with his very life.

“Well, little brother,” Lucio murmured as he continued to stare out at the darkening city, _his_ city, “Let’s just see what sort of rewards your foolish trust and friendship actually get you.”

Behind him, as if in approval, the potoo uttered another sepulchral moan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the month names, I just took them from some of the names in Germany before the Roman calendar took root. I just went by what I liked the sound of best, so they're probably from several different regions and time periods. The answer for any discrepancies is that a wizard did it.
> 
> If you're interested, these are the months I'm using, since they probably won't all be mentioned in the story:  
> January - Eismond  
> February - Selle  
> March - Fruhlingsmond  
> April - Grasmond  
> May - Weidemond  
> June - Brachet  
> July - Ernte  
> August - Hitzmond  
> September - Scheiding  
> October - Glibhard  
> November - Nebelmond  
> December - Julmond
> 
> Also, demon-servant hell-spawn potoo appearing courtesy of inspiration received from avoidingavoidance. If you haven't read Ghost Story yet, well, then I'm afraid we can't be friends. (Go read [Ghost Story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1124478/chapters/2266515). And [Finals Season](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1077642/chapters/2164931). And [The Planets Bend Between Us](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1144580). And [Trolleys](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1596689). Do it.) 
> 
> Song lyrics credit - "My Stupid Mouth" by John Mayer


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